


The last enemy

by Whiterabbit11



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, BAMF Harry Potter, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Child, Dark Harry, Dark Harry Potter, Depression, Domestic, Fluff, I promise, M/M, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Mostly Fluff, No Smut, Powerful Harry Potter, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Sadly, Top Harry Potter, and bad stuff, and some confusion, but they're healing, definitely mentions of rape, i can’t write it, not that dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-03 06:40:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15813519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whiterabbit11/pseuds/Whiterabbit11
Summary: The war is over for everyone except those who fought it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi readers,  
> I kid you not, this story came to me in a dream. I woke up with the whole tale very clearly in my head, and I tried to write it down as fast as possible. So people are frequently out of character, we switch points of view willy-nilly, and at least one scene was inspired directly from a piece of fanart that we all love. My Harry here as been through, well, a war. He's out of shape, out of sorts, out of patience with the world around him. Draco is treading so very, very carefully in a world that is waiting for him to make a mistake they can lock him up for. They are trying, you guys.  
> Love,  
> Whiterabbit

Harry took a deep pull of his beer to avoid talking. Around him were gathered his friends, laughing and joking in the Leaky’s cheerful atmosphere. Two years post-war, they were getting on. Almost everyone had returned to Hogwarts for an Eighth year, except Harry and Ron. In that time, bridges had been built and walls had been mended, both within and without. Slytherins now sat with their crew, a little separate still, but a part of the group. Harry had heard from Hermione how hard Pansy and Blaise had worked to ingratiate themselves back into society. How Goyle had wondered like a lost child for months, before being taken under the kindly wing of Luna and Neville. How Draco Malfoy had apologised profusely to Hermione, and had worked at creating a friendship with her. Now, a small group of Slytherins sat at the very opposite end of the table to Harry, laughing amongst themselves and sipping bright drinks with straws. People had moved on. And while Harry could appreciate that on a logical level – after all, he had died so that it might be so – he couldn’t help the numbness that spread through him day in and day out. His inattention, foul temper and disregard for rules had got him suspended from the Auror program just a month ago. They said he had failed the physical, which was true enough. Everyone thought he was devastated but the fact was, he simply didn’t care. Sometimes he wondered what had come back from Kings Cross, that day in the forest. Most days he felt that he had left something important there.

His eyes wondered back to the Slytherins. Malfoy hadn’t turned up, and Harry felt irritated. It was Hermione’s birthday, and the blond bastard was meant to be her friend… as if called forth by Harry’s thoughts, the door opened to the cold night air and Malfoy sailed through. He was holding a beautifully wrapped gift, obviously professionally done, which he quickly presented to Hermione with a flourish and a smile. She cooed in delight and thanked him, but Draco was already signaling to Hannah at the bar for another round for everyone. “Same again?” he called cheerfully, and Harry felt his ire rise further. Draco Malfoy of all people had no reason to look so healthy and pretty and warm. He looked expensive too, with that patrician air of wealth that had always clung to him. Harry could afford fancy clothes himself but Malfoy had no business looking so delectable in his cream wool peacoat and lavender – lavender! – trousers. Harry watched dourly as Malfoy grinned over at his mates and said, “Yes, yes, same for everyone except those two on the end there. We’ll take the…” Malfoy scanned a wine list that Hannah had produced from somewhere, selected a ridiculously expensive bottle to universal whistles and grumbles, and settled down next to Pansy with a flourish. Pansy murmured something in Malfoy’s ear and gave him a little peck on the cheek. As Malfoy grinned widely and curled his arm around her waist, Harry’s temper boiled over.

“Can’t drink the same swill as the rest of us, Malfoy?” he drawled. The deep timbre of his voice was so rarely heard nowadays that the entire table fell silent. Malfoy looked at Harry in surprise, a delicate blush climbing his high cheekbones.

“I know Pansy is a fussy cow,” he said softly, ignoring her indignant huff, and shrugged. “You’re very welcome to change your order, Potter.”

“I don’t need your money, Malfoy,” snarled Harry. His chest felt weirdly full, and for the first time in a long time he could feel his blood pumping in his veins. It was unpleasant and unfamiliar. Still, Malfoy was always good for a fight, for all he had avoided Harry these last two years. Malfoy had never backed down from Harry, except now he was standing up, and, oh, he gave a small half-bow to the table at large, and simply walked out of the pub. 

Pansy, Greg and Blaise were a beat behind, Blaise only lingering long enough to murmur a comment about a prior engagement, and snag the now-opened bottle of wine. They hurried out after Malfoy. The silence around the table grew, and Harry looked to Ron for support. He discovered his friend was well into his cups and was just staring at Harry blankly. Hermione however gave him a sharp, disapproving glare which was a deadly combination of Molly and Professor McGonagal. Harry flushed deeply and looked down, abashed. Conversation slowly started up again. No one said anything to Harry, which was not unexpected. His friends didn’t know what to do with him these days, he knew. Hermione sighed and unwrapped her pretty gift. Inside was a luxurious cashmere scarf, in the exact neutral shade which would best suit her dark complexion. She wrapped it around her neck and it looked like she had always owned it. It was perfect. Harry sunk lower into his seat and sculled the rest of his beer, before remembering it was Malfoy who had paid for it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Teddy

Harry watched Teddy anxiously as the toddler wriggled in his chair. At two years old, Teddy was a bundle of energy and mischief, with a sweet temperament which meant he was rarely reprimanded. He had deemed himself too big for a high chair anymore, so Andromeda was keeping him tethered with a sticking charm. Harry was still worried the child would topple off and eyed him nervously. Teddy had drawn a picture of his godfather and himself getting chased by a dragon, and Harry had stiffly thanked him for it. In truth he was delighted with the depiction of the blue-haired blob which seemed to be protecting the black-haired blob from a larger, golden pinky-white blob, but Harry didn't know the right sounds to make.  

Teddy didn’t seem to find Harry lacking, and accepted his paltry child-handling skills, but Harry knew he wasn’t good with his godson. Teddy reminded him too much of all Harry had lost; his own parents, Remus, Tonks. He didn’t know how Andromeda could bear it, though perhaps she had no choice because Harry himself hadn’t stepped up to help. He knew she was seeing her remaining sister again, and though they hadn’t discussed it at all, he hoped Narcissa Malfoy was bringing her some comfort. Andromeda placed a plate of spaghetti in front of Harry and a small bowl of the same food for Teddy. She had barely turned again before Teddy put both his hands into the bowl. Harry wasn’t quick enough to stop him but the food had been magically cooled, and Harry couldn’t help smiling at Teddy’s messy glee.

Andromeda sat down with a sigh and a smile. They had already exchanged the pleasantries that usually accompanied their Wednesday-night catch-ups. Harry found that seeing Teddy more frequently was hard on his mental health, and Andromeda had never pushed him for more. Tonight however, she tentatively asked him whether he was free on Saturday night, and whether he would mind baby-sitting Teddy. Harry stumbled out an excuse, a pathetic, weak thing, and Andromeda nodded kindly. She didn’t call him out on it, and didn’t seem surprised or disappointed. She said she would find someone else, and Harry assumed Molly would be pressed into service. They finished their dinner comfortably enough, and Harry didn’t think any further on it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Teddy

Harry slunk down Diagon Alley on Saturday night. He had been to see George in the shop, and done a little work in his store room. George was doing better than he had for a long time, but his family still kept a close eye on him. Harry did less than most, but he did try. Tonight, he hoped to head to a Muggle club and work off some steam with some faceless person. Even with the weight he had gained since he lost interest in the Auror program, Harry was still handsome and tall. He gave off an aura of strength, he knew, because he had been told so. Even in his perpetually scruffy Muggle clothes, he had a fairly good chance of pulling. Harry could manage to be charming for the length of time it took to get a quick blow job.

He kept to the edges of the crowd, with a wandless, wordless Notice-Me-Not charm around him. This gave him the chance to keep an eye on those around him without being seen, so he saw Andromeda and Narcissa Malfoy before they had any chance to spot him. Both women were dressed up in nice robes, smiling together and obviously on their way somewhere fun. There was a Wizarding play which had recently opened, and Harry thought they must have been headed there. He dithered for a few moments, then squared his shoulders and walked up to them. As he dropped the charm, both women startled, then Andromeda smiled happily. Mrs Malfoy tensed and looked cautious. Harry bore Andromeda’s hug and prepared to exchange empty pleasantries. He wished he had it in him to be genuinely interested or caring, but he had become used to faking that in the last couple of years. Andromeda asked him where he was going and Harry looked shifty, so she quickly moved on. However, Harry suddenly remembered she had asked him to babysit. He asked her where the child was, and she looked at Mrs Malfoy with a slightly embarrassed look. Harry tensed, and looked fully at Mrs Malfoy for the first time. She was still as beautiful and graceful as ever, but she also looked tired and aged. She had stood silent through the conversation and didn’t seem inclined to speak at all. Andromeda murmured, “Well, Teddy is with dear Draco, of course,” while peering at Harry anxiously.

“What?” asked Harry blankly. He had not for a single second imagined that she would have left a baby with Draco Malfoy.

Andromeda and Narcissa Malfoy exchanged glances, then Andromeda continued, “Draco spends a great deal of time with Teddy; he has looked after him since he was tiny, he’s such a help to me…” she trailed off as Harry’s face turned puce.

“Malfoy,” spat Harry. “You left a defenseless baby with Malfoy?” He noticed peripherally that Narcissa Malfoy slumped and looked sadly to the ground, and that Andromeda looked even more anxious. But Harry’s blood was pumping again, a hot, growling feeling in his gut climbing, and he saw red. Even as Andromeda turned to place a placating hand on his arm, Harry raised his hand and disapparated.

The Malfoys now lived in a small town house in Mayfair, a pretty little white-porched place with a genteel air. It was warded as heavily as the Aurors would allow, but Harry tore through the guarding spells like paper. He landed with a loud crack in an upper floor landing, with only a picture of Teddy in his mind. The walls and the floor beneath him shook with his power, and he heard a child’s scream from a room nearby. Harry slammed open the door and charged in, to find Draco Malfoy with his wand drawn, standing over Teddy. The rage inside Harry flamed so high that he fired off offensive spells towards Malfoy without a wand, and without thought for Teddy’s safety. Malfoy blocked him and blocked him, showing how skilled he was at defence, but he couldn’t match Harry’s raw power. In moments Harry disarmed the blond of his wand, even as he heard twin cracks behind him which suggested Andromeda and Narcissa Malfoy had followed. He threw up a forcefield around the three of them, and tossed Draco’s wand outside it. Malfoy flung himself over Teddy, arms tightly wrapped around the small body, and the baby clung to his cousin’s neck, wailing loudly. Malfoy turned his back to Harry, trying to hide the child in his arms behind his own body.

Harry realised Malfoy was speaking, but he was still too overwhelmed with anger to listen. Behind him the two women were screaming too, and he saw the moment Malfoy realised they were also in the room. Malfoy stopped shouting, and started speaking in a low, clear voice. He made eye contact with Harry, and kept speaking quietly, giving Harry something to focus on over the screams of the baby. Slowly Harry realised that Malfoy was begging. “Please, Potter,” he said softly. “Please, let me give Teddy to my aunt. You don’t want to hurt him, I know you don’t. Please let me get him to safety. You can do anything you want to me, afterwards, lets just get them all to safety, ok? Please, please Potter, let them all go. I’ll do anything you say.” Malfoy’s voice was soft, soothing, and very persuasive. Harry was locked in a rigid attack posture, standing over the cowering man and the child, but he managed to tilt his head enough to indicate Malfoy should move towards the women. Malfoy immediately shuffled over, and saw a shimmering hole in the wards around them. He somehow disentangled Teddy from his neck, and pushed him roughly through. Andromeda and Narcissa both grabbed for the child, and as soon as he was through, Harry pulled the ward tight again. Malfoy was dragged backwards with the strength of it. Still using that calm, soothing tone, he told them to leave, to take Teddy and get to safety. Weeping profusely, in a couple of cracks, they were gone.

Malfoy was still on the floor, and now he turned around on his knees. He folded his long legs under him and placed his hands, palm up, on his thighs. His head was down, pretty silver eyes trained on the floor. He was a picture of submission. Harry felt the fire and rage drain out of him slowly, and the sick realisation of what he had just done to Teddy came in to replace it. He looked around and saw he was in Malfoy’s own bedroom. Through a door there was a trail of water, wet towels, and sodden baby bath toys. Other toys and books were strewn around the warm cream carpet. The huge, plush bed had silvery velvet curtains around it and the monogrammed silk pillows were in disarray. He thought that maybe they had been building the world’s fanciest pillow fort. Harry turned to Malfoy, still quivering on the floor. “Teddy was wearing a onesie,” said Harry roughly. His voice sounded dazed and scratchy. Malfoy looked upwards hesitantly.

“I got it for him. From Harrods,” he told Harry softly. His voice was very deferential. “He loves dragons, so I thought he would like to dress up like one. Plus, I hoped it would help with getting him out of the bath.” Malfoy smiled a little at this. Harry, who had never bathed Teddy, wondered what he meant. He himself had only ever been given Dudley’s cold, used bathwater to clean himself in, and had done so with speed as he knew he wasn’t allowed any hot water or to play with Dudley’s bath toys. It occurred to him suddenly that Teddy was living a very different life to the one Harry had had, even though they were both war orphans. All remaining adrenaline drained out of Harry at once, leaving him again an empty shell. He looked around at Malfoy’s cosy, pretty room with a familiar sense of detached disinterest. There was a vase of flowers on a table, with a pile of Teddy’s clothes and a little Muggle dragon-shaped backpack. Teddy’s small shoes were under the table, socks haphazardly stuffed into them.

“Do you look after him often?” asked Harry suddenly. Malfoy answered from his sitting position on the floor.

“Yes. I always have done, since he was tiny. It’s too much for Andromeda alone. I take him at least once a week and at least once a weekend. He still sleeps with me here, but I think soon I will make him a room of his own,” babbled Malfoy. Harry waved his hand and the blond stopped speaking. Harry waved his hand again and Malfoy gasped as his shirt peeled back over his left arm. Underneath was a firm, flesh-coloured bandage, tight enough to withstand small prying fingers. Harry peeled that off too, with a twitch of his fingers. Malfoy said nothing, though his trembling increased. He kept his arm turned outwards so Harry could see the foul tattoo decorating his otherwise pale, perfect skin. The emerald green snake was oddly brighter than the snakes of other Dark Marks Harry had seen and it stood out, unchanged by the death of the one who had wrought it. It oozed malevolence, and Malfoy kept his eyes turned away from it. Harry shook his head.

“Not for you, Malfoy,” he intoned heavily. His voice was still raspy, and very deep, and Malfoy’s eyes filled with tears.

“Please, Potter, please, don’t take Teddy away from me. He’s been my sanity since I finished school, he’s helped me as much as I’ve helped Andromeda, please, he’s my family!” Harry’s eyes flashed and the vase of pretty roses split with a bang. Malfoy flinched and ducked his head, clapping his right hand over his own mouth to hold back his pleas.

“Babies aren’t for people like you and me,” growled Harry. He flicked back his greasy, unkempt fringe, showing the other man his famous scar. “These marks, these are dark magic. We shouldn’t be near innocents.” Malfoy was sobbing openly now. Underneath his cries, Harry thought dispassionately that he was still begging. With another disinterested look around the warm, cosy room, Harry dropped the wards he had been holding around the house and disapparated.

A moment later, Hermione and Ron apparated in. They had been called by Andromeda who was frantic with worry, and had been trying to get through Harry’s wards. When they were finally able to come in, they found Draco Malfoy weeping on the floor, and Harry long-gone. With a glance between them, Ron disapparated to look for their friend, and Hermione rushed forwards to comfort the blond.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is summoned to Azkaban

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who has decided to give this tale of woe a go! It really did all come to me in a dream, so I'm aware it's not my usual fluffy fare, plus it jumps around a bit. It made sense in the dream. :)

Harry stormed through the dank corridors of Azkaban, his fury shaking the stone walls and floor. The guards had taken one look at him and allowed him inside with no further examination. In his hands, he clutched a dirty parchment on which was written a summons. There was only one man in the wizarding world who would have the sheer bloody gall to summon Harry Potter himself, and from a prison cell no less.

Lucius Malfoy jerked awake as the walls of his cell began to shake. He stood up quickly, favouring injuries on his left arm. Harry stormed over to him and waved the letter. “I got your message,” he gritted out through clenched teeth. Malfoy Senior smiled thinly. This close, Harry could see the resemblance to his son; the thin lips, the patrician nose, the platinum hair which still shone in the gloom despite being filthy and matted. For a particular man like Lucius, the grime alone would be torture. Harry waited with barely suppressed anger.

“I want you to stop harassing my family,” demanded Lucius baldly. Harry wasn’t sure why he was surprised, as Lucius had always excelled at knowing what was going on. What was more surprising was that Lucius thought he had something to bargain with. As if reading his mind, the older man continued, “In return, I offer you myself.” Harry was surprised for the second time in as many minutes.

“What would I want with you, old man?” he sneered. “Both your son and your wife are prettier.” Harry didn’t know why he added that, but the effect on Lucius was instant. His pale skin flushed bright red, and he was obviously barely keeping a reign on his own temper. He was still clutching his left arm, and there were splotches of blood all over his prison garb, but he stood straight and tall, giving him just a couple of inches over Harry.

“Anything you want, Potter,” he sneered in return. “I assume you don’t mean to bugger my living corpse, but if that is your taste, I won’t object.” He snorted in disgust. Harry’s lip curled in equal disinterest.

“What, then? What do you have that I could possibly want?” Harry asked, trying to sound bored. He had a feeling he knew what Lucius was offering, and indeed, the older man gave a sinister smile.

“Torture, Potter,” he offered silkily. “You’re still the Golden Boy, no matter that you’re running to fat and obviously sinking under the weight of expectations. I’m giving you the chance to vent your spleen here, quietly, where no-one will stop you or come to my rescue. Then you can go back out there and play the hero to your hearts content. And you will leave my family alone.” Lucius stepped back, and opened his arms as much as he was able to, given his left arm wasn’t working well. Harry took a deep breath, feeling familiar rage building. He didn’t need a wand for this, so Lucius was somewhat unprepared when Harry cast.

“Crucio!”

The older man dropped to the stone floor with a cracking of bone and a scream of agony. He writhed and moaned as Harry kept casting, again and again, the Unforgiveable that he had once been mocked for trying to use. He wasn’t cruel enough then, still just a child who hadn’t seen all that was to come. Now he watched with detachment as he gave Lucius a little breathing space, and allowed the old man to cough blood and wipe tears from his face before he started again. Dispassionately, Harry thought he looked ugly like this, all his patrician beauty whittled away by pain. A flashback came into Harry’s mind, a Riddle-memory of Draco being tortured like this at Bellatrix’ wand. He had looked ugly too, silent where his sire was screaming, no longer soft and expensive-looking like he had been the other night, even cowering and begging for Teddy’s life on his knees.

Harry stopped the spell.

Lucius gasped and wheezed for several minutes longer. Harry stood and watched. Eventually the older man pushed himself up to sitting, trying and failing to wipe his face clear of blood and tears. He turned red, drooping eyes up to Harry from his position on the floor. “Remember the deal,” he rasped. “Leave Draco alone.” Harry wondered that Lucius didn’t mention his wife, but perhaps he realised that Harry wasn’t interested in Narcissa at all. Harry stared at the mess he had made a little longer. He felt utterly, utterly exhausted. His legs could barely hold him up. He waved his hand to open the cell door and staggered inside, past Lucius’ prone body. He sat down on the thin, stained mattress that was the only furniture.

Harry sat there for a long time, or a little time, he couldn’t tell. He stared into space, listening to Lucius’ labored breathing. He felt hollowed out. Some time later, Lucius pushed himself up a little more, and managed to drag himself to a corner of the mattress. Harry turned to look at him, and Lucius froze, shrinking down even further into himself as Harry raised his hand.

“It stinks in here,” murmured Harry, and was surprised to realise that the smell was actually offending him. He hadn’t even felt something so simple for a long time. He waved his hand in a couple of passes over the cell, and the filth clinging to every surface simply vanished. Another pass over Lucius himself left him clean, but still clutching his injuries. Harry focused a little more, while Lucius trembled in fear. But a moment later, he looked down at himself in astonishment. Lucius raised his left arm easily, with no pain and with full range of movement. He looked at Harry in gratitude which was swiftly replaced by alarm.

“Not Draco, please, not Draco,” he whispered urgently. Harry shook his head.

“I don’t want to hurt him,” he said lowly, “But I can’t guarantee I won’t.” Lucius looked furious.

“Try, Potter!” he commanded, and Harry almost laughed. Lucius lifted his chin. “I don’t care if you burn down London,” he said imperiously, “As long as Draco is unharmed.”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” said Harry sardonically, and waved his hand again to conjure pillows, blankets, bedding and as an afterthought, an actual bed with a proper mattress. Lucius looked down slowly.

“I won’t pay for this with my son,” he hissed. “Leave me as you found me, or worse, I don’t care.”

Harry rose from the newly made bed, and waved his hand to create a fancy armchair on his way out of the cell. “I’ll send you some books,” he said lightly, enjoying the horror on Lucius’ face. He set a ward around the cell, and told Lucius that no one could come take away his new things without Harry knowing about it. He slammed shut the cell door and walked away, while Lucius cried out for him behind.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is tired and Draco is brave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I've had a lot of interesting comments on this story so far! It's quite different to my normal fluffy fare, and I know it doesn't always make best sense. I did try to stick closely to what happened in my dream rather than improve upon the narrative structure. Please note that this chapter does have a vague description of non-con (not Draco/Harry), and can be skipped if you want. 
> 
> Many thanks to anyone who is sticking with it, and to everyone who has read and commented so far!

Later that same day, Harry banged on the door of the Malfoy townhouse. In some vague corner of his mind, he knew this was quite as rude as apparating in without asking, only in a more mundane, Muggle way. A moment a later a terrified house elf answered the door, and squeaked when Harry pushed her aside. He marched through into a comfortable drawing room, absently noting how beautiful it was with its tasteful cream and gold furnishings. It looked expensive, and it matched the remaining Malfoys perfectly. Draco Malfoy stood by the huge fireplace which was still glowing green. Harry realised he had just pushed his mother through, and smiled grimly. As Lucius had surmised, Harry had no interest in Narcissa. With a snap of his fingers, wards set around the townhouse. Draco felt them of course, and his eyes widened before his head dropped. He clasped his hands together in front of him and waited, a picture of submission once more. The Draco Harry remembered from Hogwarts would never have been so passive, but perhaps these were the lessons he had learned in the war in which they had both been child soldiers; if Harry was a general without a battle or an army to fight it with, then Malfoy was a prisoner of war without a cell. Harry felt all the fight drain out of him again, the adrenaline surge that had led him to Malfoy’s door leaving him exhausted. He dropped to the plush sofa and buried his head in his hands. Malfoy remained silent, but came closer hesitantly. Harry heard a whispered ‘Accio’ and a soft tan blanket flew to Malfoy’s hand. He came even closer to Harry, and gently draped the sweet-smelling fabric around the prone man. Harry looked at the blanket and murmured, “Is this cashmere?” He couldn’t help the wonder in his voice, suddenly returning to Little Whinging, where suburban folks were well-off but certainly not well off enough to wrap a cashmere blanket around a stranger. Malfoy smiled thinly and nodded. “I would have settled for fleece from Ikea,” muttered Harry, and Malfoy looked amused.

“I have a dragon onesie you could use,” he said softly, his voice very sad. Harry avoided his eyes.

“I’m so tired,” he told the blond, and Malfoy just nodded.

“Why don’t you take a nap?” he said in the same soft, soothing way. Harry nodded, but when Malfoy tried to rise and give him space, he felt annoyance rise. With a grunt he wrestled Malfoy back and arranged him beside Harry so he could drop his head on the blond’s chest. The blanket settled on his body, heavy and snug. Malfoy was warm and trembling under his ear, and Harry sighed deeply. His eyes were heavy with sleep, but he was fuzzily aware of Malfoy’s strange compliance. Instead of recoiling in disgust, Malfoy waved his own wand to summon a book. His heart was beating very fast under Harry’s ear, and his voice was shaky, but Harry still thrilled a little when Malfoy started reading to him. He had no recollection of such a thing happening before, though logically he knew his parents must have read to him. Harry snuffled the clean, expensive scent of Malfoy’s jumper and listened sleepily to the tale of The Hundred Acre Wood, read aloud in the posh tones that he would always associate with an eleven-year-old boy in a dress shop.

Harry woke a little later feeling strangely refreshed and more cheerful than he had felt in months. Beneath his head, Malfoy tensed, and his heartbeat sped up. Before either of them could say anything, Harry’s stomach rumbled loudly. Malfoy huffed in surprise. “Hungry?” he asked, with a little of his old sarcasm colouring his voice. This made Harry happy for some reason, and a slow, sleepy smile crossed his unguarded face. He opened his eyes to find Malfoy staring at him with an unreadable expression, and felt a bit self-conscious. Harry nodded dumbly to Malfoy’s question, and found himself being gently pushed away. He made some low grumbles but Malfoy only said breezily, “Come on then,” and led the way into a warm, brightly lit kitchen done in the same creamy tones. Harry privately thought the white marble and gold handles on everything was a bit much, but it did match Narcissa well. To his surprise, Malfoy started rummaging in the spell-cooled ice box, rather than summoning a house elf. Harry sat at a clean, wide kitchen table and watched as Malfoy began making something that looked a lot like pasta sauce. In a very short space of time, Harry’s mouth was watering. His stomach grumbled loudly again, and Malfoy looked over with amusement glinting in his silvery eyes. “Just a few more minutes,” he admonished, and Harry blushed beneath his tan skin, even though he should have been more embarrassed for staring at Malfoy. Strangely the other man offered no protest to being observed so closely. He just carefully plated up a huge portion for Harry, and a very modest portion for himself.

They sat on either side of the table with simple glasses of water beside their plates, and what looked like homemade bread. Harry fell upon his food and ate as he hadn’t for ages. He didn’t remember the last time food had this much flavour, and he didn’t even mind the complete lack of conversation. Harry hadn’t been good company in a long time, and had gotten used to eating silently and without care for those around him. As he neared the end of his meal however, he glanced upwards and found Malfoy pushing a few pieces of pasta around on his plate. The food in front of him hadn’t decreased significantly since they started their meal. Harry remembered another Riddle-memory of Malfoy at age sixteen, quivering in the cavernous, fancy dining room at the Manor. All the Death Eaters sitting around the huge table were tucking into an enormous elf-cooked meal with varying degrees of table manners. Draco looked much as he did now, pale and submissive, pushing food around his plate and biding the time till it was over, just hoping to survive another meal with the Dark Lord.

Harry lost his appetite.

Malfoy looked up tensely as Harry pushed his plate away. Harry stared at him. “It was like this for you, with Riddle,” he growled. Malfoy nodded silently. “I’m not turning into another dark lord, Draco,” said Harry firmly, surprising himself by using the other man’s first name. The blond looked surprised too, and then sad.

“I know you won’t become like him,” he said quietly. His eyes were trained on his plate, and he set down his correctly-held cutlery to hide the trembling in his fingers. “He didn’t have enough humanity left in him for depression.” 

“Is that what this is?” Harry wondered aloud. No one had said the word ‘depression’ to him, not even Hermione, perhaps in fear of his reaction. Perhaps he wouldn’t be like Riddle, but the effect he was having on others with his power and his lack of caring was very similar. Draco smiled thinly.

“I’ve suffered it myself,” he murmured, “And this looks very similar, you know?” he looked up at Harry at last, silver eyes scared and hesitant. “I imagine most of us have, but you’ve lost more than most.” Harry looked down, shutting his eyes, shutting out Draco’s earnest face and frightened eyes and soft, understanding words. He didn’t deserve this kind of caring. He never had, he knew. He had been raised to the slaughter and had somehow survived, as he always did, at the expense of others. Harry felt familiar rage rising again, and wanted to lash out. He wanted to wipe the kind expression off Draco’s face.

“Did he want to fuck you too?” he growled. As he had wished, Draco’s face drained of what little colour it held, and completely shut down. It was a hollow victory, and Harry perversely wished for the sweetness from earlier.

“He liked to watch,” Draco whispered miserably.

Harry felt his stomach drop, and all the food he had just wolfed down threatened to rise again. He watched with wide, horrified eyes as Draco rose and walked unsteadily to the sink. The blonde refilled his water glass and stood there sipping it slowly, breathing steadily in a way that suggested he had been taught to do so. Harry couldn’t help it. He rose too and walked to stand behind Draco. Even though the blond tensed up, even though his breath hitched painfully, Harry leaned forward and placed his forehead to the sweet, vulnerable spot beneath his neck which was visible when he bent his lovely head. For a moment Harry indulged in the sweet scent of Draco’s shampoo. It was so familiar from their many skirmishes at Hogwarts, and even from the time in the Fiendfyre. Harry realised that Draco’s breathing was evening out, that the deep, steadying breaths he was taking must have been filled with Harry. A moment later Draco started talking again, in a tiny, choked voice that made Harry want to raise Riddle from the dead just for the pleasure of killing him slowly and luxuriously. Draco told Harry how he was promised to Fenrir Greyback as a reward for winning the battle of Hogwarts. How the Lestrange brothers were allowed to use his mouth until then, how Riddle and his mad aunt had watched. How he’d never known whether he was being summoned for torture or humiliation or both. The story was told simply and baldly, and when it was done, Draco was crying and still trying bravely to breath through his pain. Harry wrapped his arms around the other man so tightly that he probably wasn’t helping his breathing, but he squeezed and squeezed as if hoping to put them both back together again by will alone. Draco didn’t seem to mind at all, and huddled into Harry’s bulk as if using him as a shield to his own memories.  

Eventually Draco stopped crying, and started breathing slowly and deeply again. Harry felt terrible words climbing out of his throat without his seeming consent. He tried to claw the shameful sentence back but his voice came out anyway, strangled and gravelly. “I tortured your father today.” Draco gave a cry of sorrow and dropped to his knees, leaving Harry’s arms feeling empty and his soul feeling flayed open. He looked down through bleary eyes to see Draco’s face turned upwards, pleading for his father, for his parents. Mixed with his pleas were offers to do for Harry what he had done for the Lestranges, telling Harry he could be good, he would make it good, Harry didn’t need to torture Lucius, he mustn’t hurt Narcissa, please, please… Harry put his hands over his face like a child, trying to avoid Draco’s impossible, pleading eyes. He felt full to overflowing, bursting with sorrow and pain and other things he had tried hard to avoid. Everything hurt. With a roar, Harry tore through his own wards and apparated away.

A moment later Hermione and Ron apparated in, wands out, and once more found Draco crying on the floor. 

\----

The next morning, Narcissa and Draco were having a subdued breakfast of Draco’s favourite croissants when Andromeda Flooed in, clutching Teddy in her arms. Her relieved smile showed that the boy’s godfather had relented, and Teddy and Draco flew to each other’s arms with cries of delight.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New possibilities

Draco woke to an owl tapping on his window. He had been napping the afternoon away, exhausted after a full day and night sleepover with Teddy. Andromeda had looked very refreshed when she had joined them all for breakfast, and after a trip to the local Muggle park – with a big hat to cover most of Teddy’s kaleidoscopic hair – they had finally gone home. Draco had simply smiled widely at Narcissa and collapsed happily into his favourite sofa. He had wrapped himself in a blanket that smelled a little of Harry, and it felt safe somehow. Feeling refreshed, Draco gave the owl a treat and relieved it of a hastily scrawled message. The writing was practically incomprehensible, but conveyed that Harry would like Draco to cook dinner for him again, that night, at Harry’s flat. Floo details were enclosed. Draco’s heart gave a leap, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to smile or cry. Nonetheless he dutifully informed his worried-looking mother, wrapped himself up warmly in his favourite cream coat, and headed out for groceries.

It was very strange indeed to think of Draco Malfoy wondering around Waitrose, but he found it strangely soothing. No one knew who he was, and he wasn’t attacked or spat upon like he often was in the wizarding world. The produce was lovely, and there was so much of it! The items on the shelves were an endless source of amusement. Draco had tried nearly everything in the last two years of quiet living, and now he decided to make Harry some comfort food. Steak, vegetables, mashed potato because that seemed to be Harry’s favourite. He wondered what Harry’s flat was like, and decided that instead of dreaming in the frozen food isle, he should get a move on. He snagged a caramel-flavoured flan on the way out, the closest thing Muggles had to treacle tart.

Draco returned home to use the Floo, and moved through the house quickly before Narcissa could catch him. He Flooed through to Harry’s apartment and stepped out of the fire cautiously. Green dust clung to his clothes, and with some annoyance Draco used the only wordless, wandless magic he could do. In a moment his clothes were pristine again. He looked around to find himself in a space so impersonal and cold that it might have been a shabby motel room. A solitary sofa and a cheap, rickety coffee table that may have come off the street stood in the room. The fire was barely on, which didn’t surprise Draco very much. Harry burned with the excess magic running through his veins, as Draco had discovered during their embrace a couple of days earlier. He was always warm, and this flat was utterly glacial. Draco set down his bags and waved his wand at the fire. Once it was burning brighter and warmer, he hesitantly called out for Harry. A moment later, footsteps sounded and Harry ran into the room looking embarrassed. He told Draco he had forgotten the time, which often happened to him. Draco waved away his apology politely, and asked after the kitchen. Harry’s surprised eyes fell to the Muggle grocery bags beside Draco. Picking up the food himself, he walked the blond to a similarly impersonal and spartan kitchen. It seemed stocked with simple, inexpensive utility kits from Ikea, likely a flat-warming gift from someone practical like Weasley. Draco gave Harry a small smile to show he was content, and got to work.

It should have been more awkward than it was, though it was definitely very, very awkward. Harry asked a few questions hesitantly, as if unsure how to make conversation. Draco replied as warmly as he was able, although he stuttered to a halt when Harry came closer to hand him salt and stayed, standing right in Draco’s personal space, staring intently as he always did. Draco didn’t mind the staring, honestly; he had spent so much of his teenage years trying to get Harry’s attention. But given what they had last talked about, and how poorly that encounter had ended, he was nervous. When Harry, mid-sentence, gently brushed his fingers through Draco’s chin-length hair, the blond dropped his busy knife. Immediately Harry looked contrite. “I’m making you anxious,” he murmured, looking embarrassed. “I’m sorry… I should have asked if it’s ok to touch you.” Draco was surprised at the admission, as he had expected Harry to simply take what he wanted as had happened to him in the past. Seeing Harry looking so abashed, trying hard to be respectful even with all the damage he himself had suffered, buoyed Draco’s feelings like nothing else could have. He chanced a soft, coy smile at Harry, and enjoyed the warm look he received in return. He did not give permission however, and Harry moved a little further away. The intense gaze continued, and Draco made dinner.

Harry appeared very appreciative of his choices, and they ate calmly and quietly, with a little gentle conversation that didn’t tax either of their reserves. Afterwards, Draco rose to clear the plates but Harry insisted that he tidy as Draco had cooked. They ended up doing it together, gently pushing each other out of the way in the small kitchen and blushing like the bashful schoolboys they had barely got to be. Eventually the last plate was put away and Draco turned to Harry with a hesitant, expectant face. Harry looked truly awkward for the first time that evening. “I don’t want you to go yet,” he said softly, “But this place isn’t much fun.” Draco snickered gently.

“What do you normally do for fun?” he asked.

“Go to the pub?” answered Harry, although it came out as more of a question. Draco shook his head, sending his platinum hair swishing.

“You didn’t look to be enjoying yourself the last time,” he ribbed gently. Harry shrugged.

“I don’t fly anymore,” he admitted lowly, and Draco looked down at once.

“Me either,” he confessed, pulling at the sleeves of his pale blue jumper, making sweater paws out of the soft fabric. “I just couldn’t bear it anymore after…” he didn’t need to finish the sentence, he saw, as Harry was nodding along, the memory of flames engulfing them both for a moment.

“The war even stole that from us,” Harry said heavily. Draco wrapped his arms around himself, and tried to think of something fun.

“A walk?” he suggested tentatively. “I know it’s cold, but we’re wizards!” Harry looked relieved, and agreed. He pulled on only a hoodie, while Draco carefully wrapped himself back into his cream coat, and added a matching set of pale lavender scarf, hat and gloves. Harry waited patiently while these preparations went on, then held out a hopeful, hesitant hand. Draco stepped in to take it, blushing shyly. He suggested walking along the Embankment.

An hour later, they were both having a lovely time. The Thames was cold and beautiful with Muggle lights shining on the river, and there was still a great deal of bustle in the area. Harry stopped to pet every dog they saw, and Draco told him the stories of every statue they passed. Sometimes they stopped and people-watched for a little, making up funny and tragic stories. Harry bought them big hot chocolates from a fancy bistro, and tried to memorise how Draco looked with the steam rising around his pale pink lips, eyes slitted closed in chocolatey bliss.

It was the kind of evening that Harry had thought couldn’t exist for someone as damaged as him.

After a while Draco was shivering even through Harry’s effortless heating charm, and Harry knew he should return the blond home. They walked some of the way, and though Draco didn’t complain, Harry regretfully found a quiet spot and apparated them back to the Malfoy townhouse. He set Draco down carefully on the front doorstep, and startled when it flew open to show Narcissa waiting inside. She was wearing a thick rose dressing gown and her long golden hair was escaping her plait. Altogether, Harry had never imagined the graceful society queen could look this domestic, and he realised Draco resembled her softness as much as his father’s hard elegance. She looked over her son with frantic eyes before even acknowledging Harry. Draco for his part looked a bit embarrassed, but he was also pink with warming charms and blushing, well wrapped-up, and still clutching the last of his hot chocolate. Harry was proud that Draco looked well cared-for. Narcissa obviously didn’t agree, as without a word to Harry she grabbed Draco’s arm and yanked him inside. The door slammed between them while Draco and Harry stared at each other with comically wide eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with the story no-one likes! :D I've had some really interesting chats with people as a result of this story and I don't regret it! 
> 
> This particular part of my dream was heavily influenced by that piece of art that we all love by Alekina. They are an incredible artist and even though the boys are very different-looking in my imagination, this piece was definitely what my dream was about. I've added a link below to the work itself, I hope it works! You can definitely just google 'Alekina Tumblr' to see all their stunning work.

[Find the art on this page on Tumblr](http://alekina.tumblr.com/tagged/my+art/page/8)

 

The following day brought an enormous bunch of white roses from Harry. They matched the creamy décor of Draco’s room, and he blushed madly while his mother and Pansy eyed the arrangement with matching sour expressions. He knew they thought he had bought Harry’s leniency towards their family, and maybe he had, but Harry didn’t seem to want to be cruel to Draco so he thought it a fairer bargain than any he had entered into before. Yes, Draco had surely been forced to accept worse from powerful men than flawless fresh roses flown from the south in mid-winter. With the roses came a sweet, scrawled note of thanks, and an hour later, as if the writer couldn’t bear to wait, an owl came bearing a similar message asking Draco to come over again.

This time he decided on a slow-cooked stew, something that would allow them more time to talk and linger. Draco blushed at the thought even as he selected ingredients in Waitrose, and to his horror a little old lady cooed and patted his cheek. Escaping the mortifying encounter, Draco hurried to Harry’s flat for the second time in as many days. This time Harry was waiting in the lounge area, and indeed was staring at the fire as if he had been waiting there some time. He was astonished when Draco put down the groceries and produced another, magically enlarged bag. From inside a little leather wallet, Draco produced several plush sofa cushions and another cashmere blanket, which he promptly arranged across the sterile sofa. He then pulled out a rug with some effort, and a couple of spells saw it insinuated under the sparse furniture in the room. Harry looked bemused, but he had to admit Draco had already improved the space hundredfold. Throughout these preparations they kept up a gentle patter of conversation, and when Draco declared himself satisfied, Harry couldn’t help the warm smile that stretched across his face.

Draco moved into the kitchen with a smile, and started working on their stew. Without thought he pushed his sleeves up to keep them clear of the food, but stilled when he realised the tail-end of his scar was showing. He quickly moved to the sink and washed his hands so he could push his sleeves down. Harry watched this whole procedure solemnly, and when Draco’s hands were dry, he held out his own hand imperiously. Draco timidly placed his right hand in Harry’s broad palm, and Harry raised it for a quick kiss across pale knuckles. Then he dropped it and demanded the other. Trembling, Draco brought his left arm up. Harry held his hand as gently as the other, and pushed the sleeve of Draco’s lilac jumper up. The dark mark was once again exposed in all it’s dire glory. Draco turned his eyes away, unable, as always, to face it. It oozed dark magic, the snake in the design almost alive with malevolence. Harry stared at the snake for so long that Draco started to fidget. Immediately Harry’s other hand came up, and he grasped Draco’s pale neck to keep him turned away. Harry started to speak.

The hissed words he spoke were familiar to Draco from his time in the Dark Lord’s company, and from the time he had heard a scruffy young boy uttering them all unknowing. Harry’s tone and inflection were still there, but parseltongue robbed him of the human sweetness of his voice. In moments the snake on Draco’s arm reared upwards, ink and blood and pain giving it life. It was joined by two others and together they appeared to be arguing with Harry. Draco gasped as for the first time since spending time with Harry, the other man summoned his wand. The familiar length of holly appeared in Harry’s hand, and he pointed it at the vipers swirling in Draco’s peripheral vision. The blond cried out in pain and terror, and Harry pushed his face away again. The snakes and Harry hissed angrily and at length, while Draco tried to hold on without passing out. Harry didn’t seem to be using his wand to cast a spell so much as focusing his power, forcing the snakes to obey him. Green light built brighter around the two men in the mundane kitchen. Draco focused blearily on water dripping slowly from the tap, and prayed for any deity passing by to have mercy on them.

Harry made a noise of content and the snakes hissed loudly. Draco managed to turn his head enough to see them turn back into one snake, and watched in horror as the tail unwound itself from the skull, which disappeared with a black puff of acrid smoke. The waving tail was caught in the snake’s mouth. It grew smaller, tighter around Draco’s slim wrist, before finally settling back down in ink form. When the light subsided, there was nothing left but a bright green ouroboros, a tattoo of a sturdy little snake holding its own tail. Harry continued hissing to it, and it winked at him. It seemed completely tame now, and the earlier menace was all gone. Finally, the other man seemed satisfied. Harry stepped back with an exhausted sigh. Draco’s quick eyes noticed something showing under Harry’s own sleeve, and grabbed the other man’s arm to find a smaller, daintier silver snake tattooed on his broad wrist, nestled among his arm hair. He turned huge, shimmering eyes on Harry. “You’ve connected us,” he breathed. He was still panting himself. Harry smiled tiredly.

“He’ll rise up and protect you,” he whispered to Draco. “From anyone who tries to harm you. Even me. He won’t obey me anymore, unless it’s to keep you safe. My snake will let me know if you need me.” This speech seemed to exhaust Harry, who swayed on his feet before Draco quickly pulled his arm over his own shoulder. Draco maneuvered them both as best he could to the only room in the flat he hadn’t seen. Harry’s bed was as spare and utilitarian as everything else, but Draco quickly summoned the nice blanket he had brought, and the cushions. Harry fell asleep as soon as he was horizontal, still holding onto Draco’s hand. Draco didn’t give it much thought before kicking off his shoes and sliding in beside the other man. They spooned in exhaustion and in moments they were both fast asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Harry and Draco have been in their own little world, others in their world have been very worried!

The following morning, Harry awakened slowly. He was very, very warm, and there seemed to be a soft weight on his chest. Looking down, his bleary vision filled with platinum hair. Warm breaths puffed against his shoulder. Apparently, Draco was a cuddler. Harry couldn’t find it in himself to care in the slightest, and he simply lay for a while and enjoyed the warmth and softness. He tried not to think. Thinking led to thoughts of how he didn’t deserve nice things like this, and that led to feelings, and that usually led to Harry doing stupid things like blowing off the Aurors or shouting at his friends. He breathed in the vanilla of Draco’s hair, and tried to empty his mind. Perhaps someday soon, they could try flying together. Draco was beautiful on a broom, Harry could admit after all these years. He was a natural, and it was a shame to let the war rob him of that. Harry could bear climbing on a broom himself, if it meant getting Draco out there.

Eventually the blond stirred and complained that Harry’s loud thinking had woken him. He pouted deliciously before grumpily trying to get Harry to sleep again. “Aren’t you a delight in the morning,” grinned Harry, and got pinched for his trouble. After a bit more whining and wriggling which sorely tested Harry’s ability to keep his paws to himself, Draco demanded tea. Harry groaned but peeled himself out of bed, and went to do his bidding. 

Half an hour later saw them both relaxing in the kitchen comfortably. Harry had produced an acceptable cup on the first try, and wasn’t quite sure when he had acquired the knowledge of how Master Malfoy took his tea. He had used it to lure the blond out of his bed, despite rather wishing he hadn’t decided to be a gentleman, and Draco was now curled up on a kitchen chair wearing just his shirt and trousers. His long, bony feet were even paler than the rest of him. He had insisted upon warming charms as well, and Harry had obliged with a shrug of his shoulders which sent a blast of warmth through the flat. He didn’t normally bother, didn’t even notice the cold very much, but Draco practically purred into his tea and Harry felt good. It felt good to spoil Draco a little, and felt good to put eggs and bacon into a pan for his breakfast. Harry knew exactly how Draco liked his eggs without even asking, and he didn’t resent making them. Draco demanded breakfast, but not in the same way Vernon Dursley did. Harry tossed away his ratty tshirt as the flat warmed up, and noticed Draco’s silvery eyes roaming over his body appreciatively. Harry belatedly remembered that the weight he had gained had left him far from his former trim Auror form. A deep blush climbed his tanned face, but a peek back at Draco showed him that the blond was sitting with his chin in his hand, eyes positively dreamy as they rested on Harry.

Harry smiled and dished up a plateful of bacon. Someone with Draco’s impeccable manners would be expected to wait patiently for the other food items to be served too, but Harry watched with delight as Draco made grabby hands for the bacon, stuffing a long piece into his mouth. A greasy end actually hung past his pale pink lips, and he whined because it was still very, very hot. Harry guffawed loudly, shoulders shaking as he watched Draco’s struggle.

In that moment of inattention, he dropped the tightest of the wards around his flat.

A moment later, double cracks sounded as Ron and Hermione apparated directly into Harry’s kitchen. Their wands were both trained directly on Harry, who instinctively threw up a ward around himself and Draco.

All movement and noise in the kitchen stopped. Ron looked positively livid while Hermione seemed close to tears, and they both turned as one to look at Draco. For his part, Draco still had bacon limply hanging out of his mouth, and grease all over his lips. In one hand he clutched a half-drunk mug of tea that jauntily proclaimed ‘I’m a keeper!’ He looked warm and well-fed, completely undamaged except for huge, startled silver eyes staring at the intruders in Harry’s kitchen.

“We’ve been trying to get through all night,” quavered Hermione. “Narcissa called us when you didn’t come home last night. She’s worried sick! Pansy and Blaise are with her…” she couldn’t finish her sentence as Draco leapt into action. He quickly swallowed the rest of his bacon and wiped his face, while waving his wand to summon his shoes. They flew into the kitchen and bumped against Harry’s ward. He glared at Harry, who cautiously dropped the spell while keeping an eye on Ron’s wand, which had not wavered.

“I haven’t hurt him, Ron,” he said seriously. Ron looked over at Draco again, to see the blond tying his shoes and looking irritable.

“Of course he hasn’t hurt me, don’t be a moron,” he snapped.

“Oh good, Malfoy’s back to being an arsehole,” muttered Ron, and Hermione nudged him gently. She asked Draco hesitantly, “Are you sure you’re ok?” In answer, Draco flipped up his left sleeve. Hermione gasped and Ron squinted closer at the bright green ouroboros on Draco’s arm.

“Saint Potter strikes again,” said Draco in an airy drawl. Harry couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his lips, hearing the familiar insouciance in the blond’s voice. “This little chap will protect me from anyone, even the Chosen Prat himself. I’m a lot nicer than I was,” murmured Draco, ignoring Ron’s snort of disbelief, “But it’s good to know I can be myself without being hexed, too.”

“I know coming back to Hogwarts was tough on you, Draco,” said Hermione softly. She was now examining Draco’s arm closely, turning it this way and that. “And I know the wizarding world has been awful towards you. They would have stopped eventually, but this is quicker.” She frowned and looked even closer. Ron had dropped his wand and shrugged sheepishly at Harry, who was rubbing his neck and looking sheepish back. Hermione spun around to her best friend. “This spell needs a connection,” she said suspiciously. “Draco’s snake is only half of it.” Ron snickered “Draco’s snake” under his breath, but quickly subsided when both Hermione and Draco looked scathing. They turned to find Harry snickering too, although he obediently raised his own arm to show Hermione the silver snake tattooed there. She tutted, and said, “Well I suppose there’s no stopping you,” in the tired tones of one who had suffered the whims of Harry James Potter for too long.

Meanwhile Draco had summoned his coat and was ready to leave. His mother couldn’t be left to fret any longer, but Harry still felt sad to lose him. His pique must have shown, for Draco quickly stepped close to him and whispered, “I’ll see you soon,” while dropping the lightest of kisses on his brow. In a whoosh of vanilla and warmth, Draco was gone.

The three friends stood somewhat awkwardly in the kitchen for a beat before Ron headed towards to the still-warm bacon. Hermione rolled her eyes and let him go. She moved closer to Harry, who was sitting on a kitchen chair and looking a little lost. He turned a sorrowful gaze on her, and she quickly wrapped him up in a hug. Ron reached a greasy hand across to pat Harry’s shoulder, and both Hermione and Harry moved away with grumbles. The redhead quickly cleaned his hand and came back in for a hug.

“I’ve been trying so hard not to feel,” muttered Harry from somewhere near Hermione’s stomach. “I just wanted to go back to normal, but normal wasn’t there.” Ron huffed inelegantly.

“Since when have any of us been normal?” he said in a slightly watery voice. “We went across the lake in the boats, got sorted, and it’s been bloody mental ever since.” The other two laughed through their tears.

“I can feel again now though,” Harry confided. “Draco brought it back to me, and I know it’s early days, and really bad shit’s happened to both of us, and we’re both pretty fucked up, and a million things will go wrong…” Harry petered off to draw breath, while his friends held him tighter. “I want it to work though. For the first time in a long time, I actually want a good thing to happen, and it’s scary, and I’m still angry, and I feel like things are going to get worse before they get better.” Harry’s voice finally gave out, and he was surprised to hear Ron snuffling as well.

The redhead wiped his nose on Harry’s tea towel, and said wearily, “You do know we all feel pretty much the same, yeah? You’re not alone. I know you were alone for a really long time, and then you died alone, but you’ll never, ever be alone again. We’re going to help you make sense of this. And if it’s Malfoy you want, then that’s fine, but if he doesn’t do right by you I’ll chop that snake off his arm and then kill him.”

“Won’t maiming him be enough?” asked Hermione, wiping her eyes on a tissue she conjured. She handed more to Harry, and grimaced when she spotted the tea towel.

“He hasn’t even agreed to date me yet, can we not scare him off?” moaned Harry, heaving himself upwards towards the kettle and refilling it. It was Hermione’s turn to snort, and Ron turned back towards the bacon.

“He’s been arse over teakettle for you forever, Harry,” she informed him gleefully. The kettle slipped out of Harry’s nerveless fingers, splashing lukewarm water on his bare tummy and causing his friends to laugh at him.

Harry warmed with the knowledge of how lucky he was to have them.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is set quite a while after the previous events - say a year or eighteen months even?   
> Thank you to anyone who has stuck with my funny little dream-story all this time!

Teddy Lupin climbed over a comfortable sofa. In his hands was an enormous, fierce plastic dragon, which was bent upon conquering the warm carpet in front of the fire. Teddy was wearing an old, worn-out dragon onesie. It was rather short in the legs but he still loved it. It had been a gift from his favourite cousin, after all. Teddy loved dragons, and his cousin, and his godfather. He thought he was very lucky to have so many awesome things to love. He had been coming here to his godfather’s house for a few months now, sleeping over in Harry’s bed, in-between him and Draco. Teddy thought he was so lucky that two of his favourite people now loved each other and lived together. Today Harry had been busy in the spare room, and Teddy thought he knew why. He was a big boy now. His friends’ all had their own rooms, but he was still nervous about it. Teddy peeked into the well-lit, warm kitchen area to see Draco humming along to a song coming from the big, new wireless. He was preparing yummy pasta and sauce, Teddy’s favourite meal. Harry only ever really made breakfast and sandwiches, but they were really nice too. The plastic dragon slowly snuck along the kitchen counter and attempted to steal a mini treacle tart that was cooling there. Draco just laughed and chased the dragon and his boy out of the kitchen.

Just then Harry came back from the spare room, looking very pleased with himself. He ushered Teddy into what had been an empty room full of boxes. Now Teddy gasped when he saw that the room was transformed into a dragon’s paradise. There was a dragon-shaped bed, with bedding that made it look like he would be sleeping on a dragon’s tummy. A plush green carpet warmed the floor boards, and there was an enormous mural of Teddy’s favourite dragon, the Australian Opal-Eye, stretching across one wall. He stood in awe for a few moments, taking it all in. Harry watched apprehensively. He was still nervous around the child, although he had made great strides in learning to care for Teddy. Draco had helped him make changes in this area of his life as in so many others. Teddy looked more and more worried, and Harry tried to squash the need to call out for Draco in alarm. The child ran straight to Harry, however, so Harry dropped to his knees and held out his arms. Teddy nestled in just as he had done to Draco a hundred times, and Harry heart hurt in all the best ways. “What if I can’t sleep alone, Harry?” asked Teddy anxiously.

Harry could not remember sleeping with anyone, had always slept alone in the cold cupboard under the stairs. He gathered Teddy close and hugged him tightly, and shamelessly promised he and Draco would stay until Teddy fell asleep. “And if you wake in the night, just call out for us. We’ll be in our room, just next door, see?” Harry showed Teddy how close by they would be. Then he went into that room and waited while Teddy called out for him, and came at a dead run as soon as he did. He grabbed the beaming child up over his shoulder and whirled him around, till they were both breathless and giggling. Teddy demanded a pillow fort, and it was agreed that they would build one after dinner. Draco would read to them inside it, and Teddy would choose between How to Train Your Dragon, and The Hobbit. He was worried that The Hobbit might not have enough dragons in it, but then it was a classic. Discussing the issue gravely, they made their way back out to the dining table. Harry took a last look around the beautifully decorated room and smiled.


End file.
